


Legend of the Blood Moon

by Messalla



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood Magic, DEA Agent Ian Gallagher, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Mobster Mickey Milkovich, Romantic Ian, Svetlana is a loyal wife, Undercover Ian, gore and fluff, graphic depiction of murder (chapter 6 only), the Milkoviches are hard-ass top-tier criminals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-05 05:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19041637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messalla/pseuds/Messalla
Summary: DEA Agent Ian Clayton Gallagher was never short on lovers but for some reason, he couldn’t find a stable partner to commit to. In his loneliness, he performed a blood ritual that would supposedly lead him to the love of his life. True enough, Eros-incarnate appeared to him in the form of Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich of the Ukrainian mafia.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: DEA Agents Feistl and Van Ness of the Netflix Series ‘Narcos 3’, ‘Rollercoaster’ by Red Hot Chili Peppers, and by Noel Fisher’s pretty face. The guy’s just so adorable. He and Cameron are the only reasons I’m still waiting for Season 10. I hope they get a happy ending in canon. (^.~)
> 
> Caveat: I don’t know much about DEA protocol so I figured I’ll just mirror how the usual civil service operates. Please don’t strangle me! (^.^) Also, I’m using Cameron Monaghan’s and Noel Fisher’s real life ages which means that Mickey is ten years older than Ian.

-

-

_Once upon a time, there was a lonely snowman who lived at the top of an ice mountain. He had only one wish: to have a bride to love and to be with forever. He descended into the world to search for his heart’s desire and brought snowstorms and terrible hail to make his intentions known, but all to no avail. Finally, he gave up and returned to his mountain home to mourn his lost love. As he cried his heart out, the red moon appeared and asked for his blood. Generous by heart, he gave twelve drops. Just then, the heavens opened and down came the most beautiful star._

-

-

Ian rubbed his temple a bit. Trevor couldn’t stop talking and he was fine with it. But the topic was mostly on things Ian didn’t understand and had no interest in. To remain aware of his surroundings, he took a hearty bite of the caviar-covered pasta on his plate and nodded to whatever his date was saying.

Despite his efforts to stay on earth, his mind started to wander. For some unknown reason, he remembered the old Gaelic fairy tale his perpetually drunk father used to narrate, some ridiculous story about a snowman and a star and a red moon that didn’t make sense but used to scare the shit out of him. He always cried each time Frank chanted the blood-offering part of the tale and Fiona would elbow Lip for laughing at their little brother’s miserable ass.

He chuckled at the memory, ate another mouthful, and stared at Trevor’s soft, curly hair and wide, twinkling eyes. If only he would stop talking and suck Ian’s dick instead. Alas, there was no bloody moon in the sky tonight and the snowman would be fucking a megaphone instead of a star.

-

-

“He wanted to fuck me in the ass! With a fucking dildo!”

As usual, Lip laughed merrily at his brother’s newest predicament. “So you chickened out and left him?”

“No, I didn’t chicken out. I did what every reasonable man in my shoes would do,” he retorted.

“Which is?” Lip grunted. Ian could hear the licking noises and Amanda’s soft giggles in the background and his brother’s low "yeah, baby, just like that".

“I gave him an ultimatum,” Ian told him. “Bend over or get the fuck out.”

Lip whistled at that.

“So, here I am,” Ian continued, “alone and un-fucked watching Samurai Jack.” He conveniently left out Trevor’s indignant look, the incomprehensible onslaught of insults that flooded out of his mouth, and the whiney but somewhat fearsome way of his storming out of the hotel room.

Lip paused for a while before saying, “Wow, you really did it this time. But let me tell you, once you start dumping people without screwing them first, the trend will set on and you’ll never get laid for the rest of your life.”

 “I still have Caleb though,” Ian confidently told him.

“And Kurt,” Lip reminded him. “And Darren and Julius and Max and Steve and Ferdie.”

“I just broke up with Ferdie.”

“See? You even started breaking up with your boyfriends.” Lip gasped a bit and tried to swallow down the moans that started to escape from his throat. “You’re starting to get the perfectionist vibes. Deep inside, you want to settle down. No one can ride the fast train forever, buddy. You’ll want to get off of it some time. But there is no perfect man in the world. You need to compromise.”

As much as Ian hated the word, and as much as he knew that Lip’s sage advice was laced with good, old mind-fuckery, he also knew that most of it was right.

“So,” Lip carried on, “here is my proposition.”

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t you roll the Russian roulette and put a ring on the luckiest of your fuck buddies? Then you’d stop calling me in the middle of my honeymoon night, you sick fuck.”

Ian laughed at that and shook his head. How many honeymoons should a couple have anyways? “Yeah, yeah, enjoy the ride. Don’t break too many condoms.”

“No condoms,” Lip groaned. “We want to give Jeanie a brother. Or a sister. Whatever gets squirted right now.”

Ian could hear Amanda’s “Hey!” before Lip’s breathy “Sorry, mind’s getting foggy over here” and a slightly steadier “Bro, I have to go. I’ll call you back.”

He put down the phone and took a swig of the forgotten champagne on the table.

When Lip’s comforting voice was gone, he was met with a grave silence that hung heavy on him, the cartoon-y music in the background notwithstanding. It was always like this whether he had a screw or not. Sometimes, it was worse after a screw, when the condoms were comfortably thrown on the bin in all their sticky glory and his partner of the night was exhausted and asleep after the long hours of fucking. There was a loneliness deep down that orgasms couldn’t seem to appease. And it was getting worse as the years pass him by.

He didn’t bother touching the cold bed. He slumped down the couch instead, his mind still contemplating his brother’s words. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine himself being stuck forever with any of the men he was with. Lip may be right. Maybe he was being too perfectionistic, head still over the clouds, still dreaming about that mysterious feeling that his miserable mother used to regale him with before she abandoned their family in her quest for a new love.

He remembered promising himself that he would never be like her, that he would be a faithful, stick-to-one lover. Turns out, promises were very difficult to keep and he became a Monica 2.0. Good thing he was gay or he would have created another dysfunctional family that would have suffered greatly under an irresponsible parent who couldn’t stop jumping from bed to bed.

At first, he comforted himself by saying that his current behavior was normal. He was only twenty six, still had many years to go before attempting to compromise and all that shit. But there was that nagging feeling in his gut telling him that if he did not man up and do the maximum effort to search for that one person as soon as possible, that dream would be out of reach forever.

He sighed dejectedly and thought about the scheduled dates he still had over the course of his vacation. He might have to cancel them all, including those with his ‘regulars’. Familiarity didn’t do him much good now.

If only there was a big, red moon in the sky that could grant him what he really wanted, he’d be happy to give it a hundred drops of his blood. Only, he realized, he actually didn’t know what he really wanted. He had been with men of different shapes and sizes, no pun intended. He had tried out as many positions of the Kama Sutra he was capable of twisting himself into. But no one really managed to satisfy him enough to think about putting a ring on them.

Jesus, he was getting sappy. He took another long, hard swig, grabbed the remote and switched the channel.

All of a sudden, he came face to face with a big, red moon.

For a while he was stunned and stared at the thing, oblivious to the deep, soothing voice of the narrator and the National Geographic logo on the corner of the screen. Ironically, the one thing that tethered him back to reality was his mother’s slurring voice on the day she died, _To give love and to receive love is the most important thing in the world. Take a chance. Don’t be afraid._

He was sure he wasn’t on the right frame of mind but he took his switchblade all the same. He didn’t wince even as his skin broke and his blood started to drip down the coffee table. He was in a trance, lips moving as he uttered the words.

As the twelfth drop fell, a wisp of smoke rose in the air. It looked pretty and white in contrast to the darkness of the room. More smoke rose from the table and for a while he worried if it had burnt even though he knew it was glass. When he looked down, there was no fire but the droplets of blood were gone. The smoke floated towards the screen and then disappeared. He stared unblinkingly at the moving red circle in the television, still at awe, still unbelieving that he saw what he just saw.

A sudden clank jolted him up and he sat back, retreated until his elbow hit the armrest. He swallowed hard, eyes still unblinkingly glued to the screen, hand reaching out for the switchblade he just dropped.   

“…so the Earth, Moon and Sun don’t always align. When the Earth does eclipse the sun, it casts two types of shadows on the moon: a larger shadow known as the Penumbra and a smaller, darker shadow known as the Umbra…”

It was only then that he felt the sting on his palm. The wound was deep enough to scar but not very painful as far as he was concerned.  As the narrator droned on about lunar eclipses and whatnot, Ian was bandaging his wound all the while wondering if what he saw was real or a mere product of his overactive imagination. He didn’t know if the program was over by the time he closed his eyes. All he felt was the exhaustion that came from nowhere which dragged him down into a deep slumber.

-

-

He was woken by the incessant ringing of his phone.

_Fucking alarms._

He shook himself for a bit and blinked at the sunlight creeping by the glass window. As he planted his feet on the carpeted floor, he knocked over the empty bottle of champagne. In the corners of his mind, he remembered how he drank hard after his failed date, his conversation with his brother and the compromise he was unwilling make. He thought about last night’s fantastic dream. There was no way it was real, he convinced himself. Blood doesn’t just evaporate and then disappear into videos of lunar eclipses. Maybe he sliced himself accidentally and he was just too drunk to remember.

A familiar silence hung over him but it wasn’t as heavy as before. He sat there for a while staring at the phone. There was no internal debate on his mind, just a nagging impulse to do what he wanted to do for a long time. He picked up the phone, typed a message and sent it multiple times to the people he shouldn’t even be involved with. He thought he was an asshole for breaking up with his boyfriends in such a cowardly manner. But better to be an honest asshole than a silver-tongued liar.

As expected, he was bombarded by a maelstrom of calls and text messages of hurt and confusion. He decided not to answer any of them. It wasn’t like he didn’t feel guilt or anything but these guys deserved better, deserved a lover who could give them a lot more than he was willing to give. He had never been honest to any of them. They didn’t even know who he really was outside the caresses and the kisses and the mutual orgasms.

He took a deep breath, dressed up, took the errant switchblade on the table and put it back to its proper place on his right ankle concealed by his socks. He zipped up his bag, secured his gun and took one last look at the sunrise coloring the visible sky between the parted curtains.

He had been too immersed in his fairy tale dreams of love and whatnot. Perhaps such things are not for douchebags like him. Time to call it quits and return to the real world.

-

-

“Ian Clayton Gallagher!” The greeting was punctuated by a loud slap on his back. “I thought you’re on vacation for a couple more days. What happened to your hand?”

He smiled weakly at his cubicle-neighbor. “It was boring. Decided to cut it short,” he replied raising his bandaged hand. “Kinda cut myself in the process.”

Kev laughed but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes as though he had read between the lines. But he didn’t try to pry and opted to pat Ian’s shoulder a little softer this time. “Almost forgot you’re a workaholic fucker.”

When Kev plopped himself on his swivel chair and grabbed a folder, Ian thought the conversation was over. But he rolled back to his officemate’s table. “Hey, how’s your Ukrainian?”

“A bit out of practice,” Ian admitted. “Why?”

The exaggerated smile on the man’s face was comical. “Got an assignment for us.”

Ian raised an eyebrow to that. “Ukrainians?”

Kev nodded. Obviously. “Here’s the case file, man. Knock yourself out.”  

“Will do.” Ian saluted at the guy who disappeared back into his cubicle.

 _Weird,_ Ian thought. European cartels were usually involved with human trafficking and gun running. Guess these guys wanted a piece of the drug market.

Ian closed his eyes for a while, breathed in the familiar comfort of his workspace. The guilt of his abrupt break-ups was still there but strangely, he felt freer, lighter, like he had just gotten rid of a burden on his back. Maybe he was tired of pseudo-relationships. Maybe he had grown tired of fucking and will never get laid again for the rest of his life.

Having been relaxed, he opened his eyes and flipped through the pages.

 _Ukrayin’ske Bratsvo_ , he read. _Ukrainian Brotherhood, huh_.  

The group either had links to local growers or directly owned opium plantations in Afghanistan, supplied heroin to Asia and Scandinavia, also smuggled directly to the United States.

 _Sons of bitches have guts,_ Ian thought, lips stretched into a smile.

He scanned the next pages and found himself assailed with maps of the most probable trade routes. Then came the photos of the persons of interest, grainy and almost unidentifiable.

Viggo Ivanovich Lukyanov, operations officer of the group and in charge of the Eurasian market, purportedly in charge of the technical side of the business.

 _Name sounds more like Russian than Ukrainian_ , Ian thought.

The blond man’s photo was taken from a security camera in Kabul four years ago. He attempted to imagine clearer of version of Viggo’s face for a while before flipping to the subsequent page.

The next photo was a woman’s, dark-haired, face fully captured but almost featureless due to excessive lighting. Below was her passport photo that seemed to match the facial shape of the other one but Ian somehow doubted its authenticity.

Mandy Higgins _._ Born in Chicago, Illinois. Her American citizenship seemed to be a double-edged sword. Although her US passport eased the Brotherhood’s money laundering schemes in New York and Curaçao, it also enabled the DEA to know about the existence of the group. But despite the info on her, Mandy was as slippery as a blob of slime and was virtually non-existent apart from her paper trails.

He turned to the next profile, just as grainy as the previous ones, of a dark-haired man with the face half-turned. Ian could see a blue eye looking straight into the camera. The guy knew he was being watched. _Interesting._

Mykyta Myroslav Shostakovich _._ Code-named ‘Zvezdochka’ by the Russians and ‘Estrellito’ by the Latinos.

 _Little Star,_ Ian translated in his head.

The guy was allegedly the strong arm of the group, established a direct market with both the US-based Mexican and Russian cartels. Also suspected to be involved in some political assassinations in El Salvador and was very well-respected by Mara Salvatrucha.

 _Dangerous_ , Ian thought with a grin.

As he read on and tried to memorize every bit of info, he realized that all of his love problems seemed to have disappeared. Funny how his job, life-threatening as it was, had become a better source of thrill and happiness than all of his previous fuck-buddies combined.

He absently fingered Little Star’s dark hair on the photo paper it was printed on. There was a weirdly comforting feeling that he couldn’t explain, like he had come home after a long journey and achieved his happy ever after. It was a feeling he hadn’t had for a long time. As he stared at man’s blurred face, he decided he was okay chasing little stars for the rest of his life.

-

-

Ian spent three weeks with Kev tailing some Afghans on a New York wharf. Their efforts weren’t that fruitless. They managed to stop an assassination and spotted a few heroin drop sites intended for a Brazilian gang. But there was no sign of the Ukrainians. If Ian didn’t know better via the DEA case file and his own research, he would have thought that the group was just a figment of his imagination.

On the fourth week, Kev decided to move to another suspected location. Ian stayed on the first site.

“Just in case,” he told his partner.

Kev just shrugged. Gut feelings, though a bit illogical to rely upon, could often lead to amazing findings.

“Good luck,” he told Ian. “If you find something interesting, you know the drill.”

On the third day of the fifth week, Ian was about to move on. But just when he was about to return to headquarters, he heard an explosion north of the Brazilian drop site. By instinct, he ran towards the source of the blast. He soon found that he didn’t really need to run towards the thing since the flaming helicopter was falling towards his direction.

As much as he tried to reverse tracks, his body was caught by its own momentum. There was nothing else he could do but pray that he would somehow not die after making contact with the burning piece of whirring metal.

Just as his chances of survival grew slimmer and slimmer, he was suddenly knocked to the ground by a man who jumped out of the helicopter. He couldn’t help but yell out loud as his bones cracked from the impact, the back of his skull bouncing twice as it hit the asphalt. Jesus, he could only hope that that he wouldn't get brain damage from this.

He closed his eyes as the chopper exploded one last time and sent its bits flying everywhere. Luckily, the man who had used him as a cushion had impeccable timing, had jumped in such a way that they avoided getting crushed or burned by the parts of the now-obliterated aircraft.

Ian lifted a hand to cover his nose and mouth to avoid inhaling smoke. Somehow, despite his shitty situation, he felt oddly secure with the presence of the warm heartbeat above his own. As if on cue, the person on top him started to move. His leg accidentally hit Ian’s cock which started to harden. But there was no time to be embarrassed. And frankly, the guy didn’t seem to care because by the time Ian managed to crack an eye open, he saw him already standing, machine gun in hand.

When he finally managed to open both his eyes, Ian realized that he just had a boner for the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Porcelain skin, ebony hair, lush lips and the most haunting blue eyes. Weird that he noticed such attributes. The guy didn’t even try to look pretty as he fired rapidly at some shadowy figures a few meters away.

Ian could hear the sound of bullets piercing skin and bone and metal. But the one that caught most of his attention was the incoming buzz of what sounded like a grenade launcher firing. On reflex, he dragged his pretty guy down into his arms. He could only think of how comical they looked as they rolled together and fell into the waiting sea.  

-

-

_tbc_

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The Cornbread Mafia is a real mob based in Kentucky with operations concentrating on domestic marijuana production. The Ukrainian Mafia is also a real group but for purposes of this story, we refer to them as “Ukrainian Brotherhood”.

-

-

Ian’s lungs started to wheeze, his throat filled every now and then with salt water. His head bobbed up for much-needed air before getting dragged underwater again by the flailing guy he just saved.

“Stop struggling!” he yelled.

He figured the man didn’t understand. Even he couldn’t understand himself with all the water making its way into his mouth, forcing him to make gargling sounds instead of proper words.

His guy wasn’t doing any better. He was attempting to jump back to the pier but the large waves and the lack of solid ground to brace himself into made his efforts useless. The only thing he succeeded in was dragging Ian along with him into deeper and deeper waters.

“Fuck! Fuck! I can’t swim!” the man gasped. It was English and spoken with a Southside accent.  

 _Weird,_ Ian thought.  

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the man was from a different gang and not from his Ukrainians.

Anyhow, Ian knew that any info he had, case-related or otherwise, would remain unreported if this panicking guy drowned him to death. And so, he did what he thought best. He took a deep breath, concentrated his strength into his feet, and pulled himself down into the depths along with the still kicking man. As expected, a mere thirty seconds later, the man’s movements had slowed down. Ian decided to wait for a few more secs before resurfacing.

They stayed still for a while, hair and bits of clothing floating around making them look like astronauts in space. The previously cloudy sky had given way to the sun which now cast a beautiful glow penetrating the water.

Ian couldn’t help but appreciate such lovely sight. Especially lovely was his pretty guy, skin now bluish like the mermaids of the legend. Even when his coloring was made almost achromatic by the underwater environment, Ian could still see the ceramic-like blueness of his eyes and the faint, warm pinkness of his lips. He wanted to say ‘Where have you been all my life?’ but obviously couldn’t. All he could do was drown in such a sight, wishing he was one of the bubbles coming out of the man’s mouth.

A few more seconds and Pretty Guy’s feet had gone as limp as the rest of his body. His hold on the machine gun had loosened and Ian could only look as the weapon was let go and dropped further into the depths. When the man’s eyes started to close, Ian figured it was time to go back.

He wrapped his arms around the man’s waist and swam back to the surface. Pretty Guy was lighter than expected, his small body melding into Ian’s larger frame perfectly.

Ian could feel another boner rising and he wanted to smack himself for it. The last thing he needed was his dick distracting him from doing his job properly.

Turns out, he didn’t need his dick to impede him from doing his job. The moment, his head bobbed up, his forehead clanked with a revolver’s barrel. When he looked up, a bunch of Latinos carrying high-powered firearms grinned at him from the lifeboat.

“Welcome aboard, motherfuckers.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered angrily.

-

-

“Chewing gum,” said the tall, lanky man who had rummaged into Ian’s clothes. “More chewing gum. Are you selling chewing gum, kid?”

Ian didn’t answer, pretending he did not understand a thing the guy said. The moment he was hauled into the waiting yacht, he took in as much info as he could. Apparently, he and Pretty Guy were aboard the ‘Estefania’ and the gun-toting, formally dressed men surrounding them were Brazilians.

 _Shit_ , he thought. He only had very basic knowledge of Portuguese and it was the Portugal Portuguese, not the Brazilian variety. Fortunately for him, Pretty Guy seemed not to understand Portuguese too so that the Brazilians had to speak to him in English.

One of their captors looked very familiar and it took Ian only a little while to remember his exact identity. Fernando João De Carvalho, a cocaine mogul. He was on the DEA watchlist. _Nando_ , Ian nicknamed him.

Nando smiled and lightly slapped Pretty Guy’s cheek. “My dear Estrelinha,” he started. “You remember me, don’t you?”

Pretty Guy blinked and didn’t say a word.

Nando took off the glove covering one hand and Ian could only look at the sorry state of the man’s digits. The thumb, pinky and middle finger were totally severed, the ring finger cut in half, and the pointing finger lost its nail and was skinned and de-muscled so that the bones were showing. Judging from the proliferation of scar tissues, Ian surmised that the de-fingering happened at least a year ago.

To Ian’s amusement, Pretty Guy snorted, “Still don’t know you, pal.”

Nando didn’t look a bit fazed by the lack of recognition though. The man simply shrugged at it. “Well, that’s a shame. If you did, I would’ve thrown you a welcome party.”

“If you want revenge, do it now. You won’t get another chance.” Pretty Guy’s voice sounded tired but there was a sharpness to it that wouldn’t be missed. From the exhaustion in his posture, Ian presumed that occurrences like this must have happened to him a lot.

“All in good time, my dear. All in good time,” Nando said. He now turned to Ian. “Who’s this motherfucker? Your bodyguard?”

Pretty Guy shook his head. “Don’t know him. Maybe he’s a DEA agent snooping around to catch our tails.”

Ian bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from showing any reaction. But boy, his heartbeat was speeding up. It was obvious that Pretty Guy was just playing with Nando’s head. But whether he knew it or not, Ian was caught in the game as well.

Nando laughed at that but his eyes darted at Ian warily. “Nice to meet you, agent.”

The Brazilian boss turned to his men and started to speak in rapid Portuguese. Ian couldn’t follow the conversation anymore but he sure did catch Nando instructing his guys to ‘secure the box’. It was only then that Ian recognized the small space he and Pretty Guy had been shoved into. It was a safety box complete with a password-coded lock. Judging by the design, Ian realized that the thing could be drained of air in order to suffocate victims to death. A few minutes after the box was closed, he gratefully realized that he could still breathe normally. Nando must have wanted them, or at least Pretty Guy, alive for a longer time.

For a while Ian thought about his predicament. He would need to be missing for at least 24 hours for Kev to realize that his partner might be in danger. And for what? These guys aren’t even related to their assignment.

He sighed dejectedly and stared at his ‘cellmate’ who was doing fuck knows what. Like Ian, both of Pretty Guy’s hands were cuffed and tied to his back, his feet were also cuffed and tied together. For some reason, he kept elbowing a spot on a corner much to Ian’s amusement.

At last Ian couldn’t help but ask, “What are you doing?”

Pretty Guy glared at him. “Shut up, Red.” He elbowed the spot some more and then he stopped. “That was the microphone. It’s off now.”

Ian stared at him dumbly. “The what?”

“The microphone, stupid,” Pretty Guy told him impatiently. “Carvalho’s monitoring us. In case you didn’t know, there’s also a security camera above my head.”

Ian tried to spot the camera but he couldn’t see anything. Then it dawned on him. “Wait. You know him?”

Pretty Guy snorted. “Of course, I do. I should’ve killed the fucker when I had the chance. But first things first.” He tried to elbow Ian on the ribs but the tight space didn’t allow for much movement. “Where the fuck were you? I waited for almost two hours.”

What the heck was this guy talking about? Ian decided to play along. “I’m sorry. I got lost. New York is a very confusing city, you know.” He punctuated it all with a sheepish smile.

“Right,” Pretty Guy spat, eyes still throwing daggers at him. “Forgot you Cornbreads are country hicks. Well, the shipment is already on the way. Real high-quality Kalashnikovs straight from the factory. You can test it upon arrival. I suppose your boss has prepared the cash?”

Ian nodded at that. _So this guy is from a gun-running syndicate_ , he thought.

“Fantastic,” Pretty Guy said. “Now all we need is to get out of this fucking tin cage. Any ideas?”

It was Ian’s turn to smirk. He pulled up his now-free hands and straightened his dislocated bones back to their rightful place. “Nothing’s ever really locked.”

The amazement and subsequent smile on the other man’s face was priceless. Ian thought he was fucked in the head for trying so hard to impress a criminal. But heck, every person in the world was a little fucked in the head too so he figured he wasn’t that bad.

But there was no denying the unusual thrill soaking up every nerve of his body. It was a giddy thrill that reminded him of the way he felt for his first crush. It didn’t help him that Pretty Guy’s twinkling blue eyes were more beautiful than any star in the sky.

A few minutes later, Nando and his crew had been dropped in the middle of the sea and Ian was driving ‘Estefania’ back to shore. The real Estefania was also with them, sobbing for her Papi. Pretty Guy borrowed her phone to call his men and confirmed the success of the delivery and receipt of payment.

The moment they were back on land, they stopped by a busy pier for a while and shared a smoke. Together, they watched the sunset cast its fiery glow all over the sky, the land and the sea. It was a magical moment.

“Hot damn, Cornbread guy,” Pretty Guy said in an almost-whisper. “Your boss always sends an escort to your suppliers during a run?”

Ian’s jaw dropped and then closed again as he realized that the ‘escort’ the man was talking about was not that kind of escort. Good thing that everything was an explosion of golden-red hue or the blush on his face would have embarrassed him even more.

“Well, we’re country hicks so we still prefer to give the traditional personal touch,” Ian replied.

Pretty Guy bit his lip at that and Ian found himself absolutely adoring the sight. “Does that personal touch extend to something more personal?”

Ian could feel himself getting undone by the excitement. “Yes, I suppose,” he said, not wanting to sound too eager.

When a hand was extended to him, he could only pray that his own hand receiving it wasn’t shaking too much. Jesus, he was acting like a teenager.

“Call me Mickey,” Pretty Guy told him.

“Ian,” he reciprocated.

“See you later, Ian.”

Before he knew it, Mickey had about-faced and disappeared into the sea of people. He did leave Ian a business card. When he looked at it, his heartbeat started to speed up once more. On the slightly wet thick, white parchment was a scrawl of Cyrillic text reading ‘Svezdochka’ along with a date and an address.

 _Little Star,_ Ian translated.

It was only then that the dots in his mind started to connect. Svezdochkha. Estrellito. Estrelinha. Little Star. Mickey. Mykyta Myroslav Shostakovich. He just found one of his targets.

The excitement in him had not dimmed even with that fact, but Ian could feel an uneasiness growing. This was getting personal for him and it has not even started yet.                 

-

-

_tbc_

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> 1\. Mishen’ka, Mishka – Russian/Ukrainian diminutives for Mikhailo, other diminutives being Misha, Mishut’ka, Mishanya and Mikhei  
> 2\. “legend” - in KGB parlance (I don’t know if it is the same with DEA, sorry -T.T-), a new identity for an agent or spy usually stolen from a real person, typically a dead one  
> 3\. Moby Dick and Stormalong – characters in an American tall tale; Moby Dick is the fearsome great white whale who was rode to death by the sailor Stormalong (and he had to be a cowboy to do it! -^.~-)

-

-

The sky was overcast today. Mickey couldn’t decide if that was a good omen or a bad omen but he was a bit loath to flip a coin. He settled on ignoring the state of the weather outside the glass window and concentrated on donning the semi-ragged, easily maneuverable clothing he preferred to wear during his regular runs.

He had been chastising himself for days now, berating himself for his impulsive desire to meet again with the Cornbread guy. It’s true that he hadn’t had a man for a few months now but that was no valid reason to expose himself, and the Brotherhood by extension, to unnecessary risk. But there was something about that man that made his head spin every time he thought of him.

By all accounts, Ian was very good looking, tall, green-eyed and readheaded with fair skin dotted with cute freckles. He looked like a beautiful alien from space or a mystical creature out of an ancient fairy tale. Most especially attractive was his aura of gentility and innocence that was laced with an unfathomable danger. Mickey just couldn’t get him out of his head.

Despite the fact the he was badly smitten with the guy, Mickey had responsibilities to his family. He didn’t have the liberty to be a naïve little bitch who jumped at any man who caught his fancy. And so, the day after he met the Cornbread man, he had his men investigate his background.

It took them a few days. The country gang was a secretive society after all, especially now that the DEA was intensifying its efforts to kill the domestic marijuana trade. After some information digging, his men confirmed his true identity.

Ian Shane Gallagher, aged 26, was a newly-inducted Cornbread, illegitimate son of Joseph McDermott who was one of the bosses of the East Minnesota faction. He was as redneck as anyone in those parts could get, dropped out of military school to help run his mother’s farm and eventually took over when she died. But when his estranged father appeared out of the blue asking for help after a brush with the local police, Ian didn’t turn the old man away. In an act of pure selflessness, he sold his farm to buy guns and ammo for the Cornbreads. When he joined the group later, he was already known in the underworld as Old Joe’s shy and reluctant heir.

When he learned of those facts, Mickey felt the fascination in him intensify. Here was a man so devoted to family that he threw away a life of security for the sake of his father. Mickey wondered how such a man would be like as a lover, if he would be gentle and sweet and generous with his affections.

He had seen how Ian looked at him, had known the obvious desire in his eyes from the moment they first met. Normally, Mickey would just go with the flow and take advantage of what was being offered. But Ian was unlike any of the men he had known, or at least he seemed to be different. He wanted to know more about him. Whether or not his speculations were correct, he was in for the ride.

He heard the door open together with the soft pattering of his wife’s slippers. When he turned to her, she pressed a kiss on his lips and hugged him. She couldn’t embrace him as tightly as she wanted; her belly was already heavy with their fifth child.

He tried to search for a reaction within him but realized that even after fifteen years of marriage, he still couldn’t get aroused from her touch without the help of ecstasy or viagra.

When their lips parted, she closed the last button on his shirt. But when she looked at him, she immediately understood where he was going. She seemed to desperately search for something in his eyes but upon not finding what she wanted, her features settled into a resigned smile.

“You’re seeing someone?” she asked in her heavily accented English.

“Yes,” he told her. It was one of their rules, to be honest with each other. That’s how a marriage becomes successful, or so she told him many times before.

“He better make you happy or I’ll kill him,” she said.

He laughed despite himself. She laughed too but there was a sadness in her eyes that he wished he could take away. But he knew that she knew that to make her truly happy, he would have to deny his true nature. That denial, she once told him, would eventually make them fall apart and she did not want that to happen. Love is sacrifice, she always said. She was willing to sacrifice.

“I hope you have a good time,” she said, her eyes wet with unshed tears.

“Svetlana – ”

“I’m not worried,” she told him, her beautifully-made hands gently cupping his face. “I know you’ll come home to me, my Mishen’ka.”

As if to assuage the guilt he was now feeling, she pecked his lips one more time and told him, “Now go. It’s bad manners to keep your date waiting.”

He scoffed at that. “It’s not a fucking date.”

“Yes, it is,” she said with a grin and swatted him with her hand towel.

-

-

Ian had been waiting for a few minutes and his guts were twisting with both guilt and anticipation. No matter the nature of his connection to Mickey, the guy being his target, he still felt like he had betrayed him somehow and he didn’t like that idea.

He knew that the Brotherhood had taken the bait, had believed in Ian’s beautifully crafted legend strengthened by Joe McDermott’s cooperation with the DEA as their latest asset. Professionally, he did a good job. Personally, he couldn’t help but feel that he was a giant asshole.

For a while, he tried to justify his actions. Yes, Mickey was mind-blowingly hot and made his dick crazy like no one else had ever done before. But he was one of the bosses of an international crime syndicate for fuck’s sake. Ian needed to get a grip on himself and do his job like he always did.

But as he contemplated on his predicament some more, he felt like not taking the job anymore. He was too attracted to the target and that may induce him to cross outside the bounds of professionalism and betray the DEA itself. On the other hand, he also didn’t want to give the assignment to anyone else. He had this unexplainable need to protect Mickey and a new agent would probably not handle _his_ man with the same care that Ian would give.

 _Fuck_. He didn’t even really know the guy yet and he was already emotionally invested. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Hey, country hick.”

When he heard that voice, all of his previous thoughts had melted. There was that indescribable feeling again that took control of every fiber of his being.

He turned around and almost ran to meet him halfway. And as though his body was possessed by a higher power overwhelming his own soul, his arm had automatically wrapped around Mickey’s waist, his other hand craddling the other man’s head in place as he crashed their mouths together.

It was a kiss unlike any other and Ian could literally feel the universe blurring away. There was only him and this man. Nothing and no one else mattered anymore.

Mickey pulled away to gasp for breath and Ian immediately transferred his attentions to his cheek and his neck. He could hear the other man chuckle, his hands lightly pushing on Ian’s chest.

“Easy, big guy. Not a fan of exhibitionism.”

It was only then that Ian realized that they were still in the open, still jostled around by the sea of people on their way to the nearby beach party. In the cobwebs of his mind, he appreciated the location of their rendezvous. Not even the most seasoned of agents could easily comb through this crowd, the reason why Mickey chose this very place and time for their second meeting.

He settled on brushing his lips on the bridge of Mickey’s nose and whispering, “Hello, city boy.”

The sound of Mickey’s subsequent laughter sent a punch to his gut and he soon found that he didn’t want to let him go. When they looked at each other once more, Ian tried his best to memorize every bit of detail and not for operational purposes.

His eyes went down to those little hands on his chest. For the first time, he noticed the knuckle tattoos in Cyrillic reading ‘Ukrayina Vitchyzna’, Fatherland Ukraine. He also didn’t miss the nondescript wedding band on one finger.

Mickey looked intently at him, gauging his reaction. When Ian didn’t show any, he told him the obvious. “I sorta have a wife.”

Ian only nodded. “Would she mind if I borrowed her husband for a while?”

“Nah, she’s good,” Mickey answered, amused.

“Then we have nothing to worry about,” Ian replied, stealing another kiss.

Mickey laughed lightly once more and pushed on his chest, a little harder this time. “Alright. Okay. Let’s get out of this fucking fiesta first, yeah?”

Ian had to agree with that. He was only surprised when Mickey pulled him towards the crowded shore. He didn’t look dressed for swimming, neither did Ian. When they were on waist-deep water, he caught a faint glimpse of a yacht in the distance, its white top gleaming under the bright morning sun.

“So how are we going to get there?” he asked.

“We’ll swim,” Mickey replied, nonchalantly taking off his shoes.

“I thought you can’t swim?” Ian asked once more.

“That’s why I’m depending on you, Moby Dick. You up to it?”

There was a challenge in that tone that made Ian’s pants impossibly tighter. He took off his own sea-soaked shoes, laced them together with Mickey’s and tied them to the waistband of his pants. Then he offered his back and grinned. “Ride me, Stormalong.”

-

-

They finally climbed the yacht, laughing and panting from exhaustion. Ian noticed that they were once again aboard Nando’s ‘Estefania’, only there was an added ‘Maria’ on it and a huge, couldn’t-be-missed airbrush painting of the Mexican flag. But the three blue-eyed, blond men lazily smoking on the deck didn’t look like Mexicans at all. They also didn’t have the classic formal attire that the yacht’s previous owner used to wear.

“Yo, Mishka,” said the guy with the open-buttoned Hawaiian shirt and black shorts. He held a hand to Mickey and pulled him into a tight hug.

Ian knew that continental Europeans greeted each other in an overly-sweet manner. Still, he couldn’t help but wince as the man kissed Mickey on the lips and then on both sides of his face. The process was repeated twice more for the other two and the sight of it left Ian fuming on the inside.

When the Hawaiian Shirt Guy’s eyes flicked to Ian, Mickey immediately introduced him. “Ian, these are my brothers. Brothers, Ian.”

It was only then that Ian recognized the resemblance of all three men to his Mickey. The only significant difference were the taller builds and lighter coloring.

Brother Number Two expressionlessly stared at the newcomer while Brother Number Three actually smiled and winked. “Not bad.”

Brother Number One i.e. Hawaiian Shirt Guy blew some smoke at Ian’s face and told them in a perfect American accent, “Cabin’s ready. Don’t wreck it, motherfuckers.”

-

-

“Wanna take a shower first?”

Mickey had barely finished the sentence when Ian cut him off with a searing kiss. This time, he didn’t resist when he was pulled closer and pinned to the wall. When Ian licked his lips, Mickey opened up and allowed the other man’s tongue to slip right in. To say that it was an intoxicating experience was an understatement. The only thing stopping Ian from indulging in it endlessly was the now-painful bulge in his still-wet pants.

His patience had now flown away and he tugged sharply at his own belt. When it finally came off, down came the salt-soaked denim and the two pairs of shoes tied to it along with his hastily-pulled down boxers. His checkered shirt soon came after, pulled so hard in haste that some buttons had been ripped out.

The undershirt was a bit more tricky to handle. Contrary to the seemingly easy way that actors and porn stars removed them in the movies, Ian’s was a stubborn little shit that clung to his skin like mad. When the thing was finally in a puddle on the floor along with the rest, he now turned to Mickey. To his chagrin, the other’s man’s clothes were still intact and those blue eyes looked up at his partner’s innocently as though asking for help.

Ian chuckled at that. Apparently, his little star was a sadist who seemed to derive joy from making Ian’s cock suffer.

 _Fine by me,_ he thought, accepting the challenge.

He kissed Mickey once more, this time taking it slow. When he pressed him back to the wall, Ian could feel the other’s lips tug up in an amused smile. He couldn’t help himself from smiling as well, appreciating the little touches being showered on his neck, the gentle way those fingers were caressing his cheeks. He pressed their lips together one last time before moving on, nudging their noses and then going down, swirling his tongue on his jaw to his neck. His hands were at work, undoing the other man’s belt and taking off the outer shirt.

As more and more of Mickey’s clothes were dropped to the floor, Ian thought about his previous experiences, at how he usually didn’t really care about the other person’s pleasure. His exes had all been happy to give him whatever he asked, had been too eager to try and make him happy. He did indulge their quirks sometimes but he was always the one in control, always the one setting the pace. He brooked no disagreement and if a partner didn’t like his approach, he left them alone and moved on to someone else.

But Mickey was different. For the first time and only for the sake of this man, Ian was willing to go through pain, willing to forego his immediate desire. His previous self would have thought his present actions as ridiculous and stupid. Ian realized that for the very short time they have known each other, Mickey’s presence had mutated him into an entirely different person.

He moved further down until he was kneeling on the floor, his mouth wrapped around Mickey’s length.  He had a plan at hand and it usually worked within his time frame. However, he was already leaking hard and the sounds coming from Mickey was making it difficult for him to concentrate.

 _Time to change tactics,_ he thought.

And so, he coated his fingers with the abundant pre-come and used it to slowly open up his partner. In no time, Mickey was an incoherent mess. To Ian’s amusement though, there was no begging or pleading, just more moaning and gasping, shaking legs that were trying their very best to stay standing, fingers clenching and loosening on his hair.  

Ian decided that he couldn’t take it anymore. He stopped his ministrations and dragged Mickey into the bed. As his body started to settle down between the other man’s legs, he found Mickey’s hands back to his chest as though pushing him back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Mickey blinked a bit, stared at him intently, and whispered, “Nothing.”

“Wanna ride me, Stormalong?” he asked, teasing.

He was rewarded with a hearty laugh. “Nah, I’m fine like this. Just wondering how big you really are, Moby Dick.”

Ian grinned at that and started to push himself in, pushed some more until he was fully sheathed. “And? Does that length measure up to your satisfaction, sir?”

“Yes, it does,” Mickey told him, still laughing. “Now shut up and fuck me or I’ll rip your tongue out of your head.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” he said in mock-seriousness and gave a snappy salute.

Ian started slow but soon found that he could no longer hold back. He had denied himself for far too long. As he sped up, he kept looking at Mickey’s face and the expressions he was making. He wanted to make him feel good, wanted to make sure he wasn’t hurting him, wanted so many things that didn’t involve just satisfying his own dick. But as he patted himself on the back for his newfound altruism, he realized that he was also being given a lot more than he deserved. Now he finally understood the phrase “God loveth a cheerful giver”. The more you give, the more you fucking receive.

They rode to Paradise together and came down to Earth together. It was a joyride unlike anything Ian had ever experienced before. And he was damn sure that now that he had tasted the forbidden fruit, he couldn’t live without it anymore.

As they basked in the afterglow, Ian looked at his little star and saw that worried look he had been sporting earlier. For the second time, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Mickey bit his lip and looked at Ian apologetically. “I thought I forgot something and I said to myself ‘Nah, I didn’t’. But I remember now.”

“What?” Ian asked.

“The condom,” Mickey told him, brows furrowed. “We forgot to put on the condom.”

Ian couldn’t stop himself from bursting into a fit of giggles. Mickey scowled at him.

“What the fuck’s so funny about that, Cornbread?”

Ian had to swallow his own laughter so he could answer in a more coherent manner. “It’s not like you could get pregnant.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “No, but its standard fucking protocol to wear fucking protection, asshole.”

“I’ll wear it next time,” Ian promised.

Mickey snorted. “Too fucking late for that, don’t you think?”

Ian didn’t answer and planted a kiss on Mickey’s temple instead. Mickey responded by scooting closer to Ian, nuzzling his neck. They lay together like that for a long while, listening to each other’s heartbeat, sharing little kisses, luxuriating in each other’s touch.

Finally, Mickey fell asleep, exhausted. As Ian pressed another kiss on his man’s lips, a plan started to form on his mind. He would get Mickey out of this mess. It would be a difficult task and he would be risking his reputation, his career and his very neck. The stakes were high but he was willing to gamble everything he had.

And hey, the more you give, the more you receive.

_-_

_-_

_tbc_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I’m trying too hard to write in a top’s point of view. Hope it didn’t turn out too bad or awkward.  
> (-^.^-)


	4. Chapter 4

-

-

Ian’s plan was threefold. The first part was to do his job the textbook way: understand how the Brotherhood works, fish out all the key people connected to the organization, gather as much evidence as he could to indict them, and then submit all of his findings to the DEA. The second part was to convince Mickey to surrender and testify as a federal witness. It would be a turbulent affair but it was the best way to ensure his freedom, secure an asylum in the United States, and protect him from any retaliatory actions from the other bosses of his group.

The third part was to track Mickey down after his testimony. This was the most difficult, and frankly impossible, part because under the WITSEC, he and his family would have to be relocated and given new identities. And Ian, despite his status as an agent in charge of the case, would not be able to obtain any information about such relocation. The US Marshals operated separately from the DEA and would never disclose anything about the people under their custody. To keep in touch with Mickey, he must convince him to leave Ian a code or something that only the two of them would understand.

As he mulled it over, his eyes surveying the deep sea darkened by the starless night sky, he realized that there was one thing that was certain – Mickey would definitely hate him during the course of ‘part 2’, the word ‘hate’ being an understatement. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend the torture he would undergo were he to accidentally reveal himself now. Maybe he would be chopped up piece by piece until he bled to death, or maybe his organs would be harvested and sold and his body transformed into a gutless bag of flesh, or maybe Mickey would prefer to simply put a bullet on his head and blow his brains out.

Fuck, even his prospective deaths sounded erotic. Everything sounded erotic to him as long as Mickey was the one he imagined to be doing the job.

Truly, that professor who once said that ‘love was a mental illness’ had it right. Or maybe a potent drug, he couldn’t remember the exact words. It’s true though that these feelings were decidedly as strong as the Ukrainian Brotherhood’s heroin and it was making his brain metamorphose into something _not_ sane.

As he stared at the half-moon slightly peeping out of the black clouds, he remembered his dream (or not) about the red moon, his blood transforming into smoke and all that shit. He wondered if his uncontrollable attraction to Mickey was a direct result of that. It certainly would explain why he was falling so hard and so deep for a virtual stranger. 

“Ay, Cornbread.”

As he beheld the object of his masochistically suicidal affections, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to thank his father or kill him all over again for passing onto him such a powerful ritual. Magic, Ian decided, was a dangerous thing to dabble into.

“The Mexicans are here to collect their boat. We have to go.”

When Mickey passed by him, Ian caught a whiff of his hair. His cock immediately stood in attention.

 _You’ve got to be kidding me_ , he thought angrily.                                                        

To his endless embarrassment, Mickey’s eyes flicked down to his bulging crotch and then to his face.  Ignoring Ian’s predicament, he simply smiled and said, “Come on.”

-

-

Upon stepping into the waiting cruiser, Ian was led towards the landing pad on the topmost deck. From there, he watched as ‘Maria Estefania’ sailed away never to return. In its place was the incoming chopper waiting for the right timing to land.

“Your dad won’t mind if we borrow you here for a while?” Mickey asked.

Ian had enough presence of mind to recite his script in consonance to his legend. “He won’t. He’d actually appreciate it if I got myself a wholesale buyer with you guys. Retail is getting more and more difficult these days.”

Mickey nodded and patted his back. “Business for the businessman.”

There was no direct skin contact but Ian’s dick was going crazy again. It didn’t help him that Mickey looked really good in that three-piece suit. Fuck, if his superiors knew of his undignified, immature, dick-centric thoughts (and deeds), he’d be fired on the spot.

To calm himself down, he mustered all of his willpower to do his fucking job. He looked around and took in as much detail as he could. Mickey’s brothers were with them, all looking dapper and business-like in their formal attire. Ian too was wearing a suit courtesy of Brother Number Three. There were five other men in uniformed suits scattered randomly. There were no visible weapons but Ian was certain from their postures that they were carrying firearms underneath their clothes.               

The helicopter finally landed. Two women dressed in evening gowns descended from the makeshift steps. One looked very familiar and it took only a few seconds for Ian to realize that this was Mandy Higgins, the Brotherhood’s money laundering lady. The other dark-haired woman looked familiar too but that was only because her build, hair and facial shape looked exactly like Mandy’s.  

Mandy Lookalike was decidedly loud and ran towards Mickey and his brothers. Ian wanted to look away as the kissing marathon happened again. The cultural difference was just hard for him to overcome. Mandy Higgins didn’t do anything of that sort and simply waited as though she was an employee in front of her bosses. Finally, Mandy Lookalike slung an arm around Mickey’s waist and pinched his nose.

“Long time no see, shithead.” As with the brothers, Ian was surprised at how fluent and American her English sounded.

Mickey retaliated by pinching her breast and she howled angrily and smacked his head. Their shenanigans reminded Ian so much of his own family and he chuckled despite himself. When she turned to him, Mickey immediately introduced them, minus her name.

“Ian this is my sister. Sister, Ian.”                                                                                       

Sister held out a gloved hand to him and he shook it. “Nice to meet you, Ian,” she said. She didn’t let him go immediately and studied his face intently. Then her eyes raked him up and down and she asked, “Are you one of Svet’s new boys?”

Brother Number Three laughed at that while Mickey intervened, the mortification on his face showing. “No, Mandy, he’s a fucking customer.”

Now, Ian was confused. She was apparently a Mandy too.

“You’re better-looking than the ones you’re paying for,” she told him.

Ian attempted to process what she just said but it was too cryptic for him to understand. Mickey on the other hand seemed to have understood her and he slapped her butt loudly. “He’s _my_ customer, you fucking cunt.”

Mandy Number Two just laughed. “Whatever, asshat. Let’s go.”

She pulled Mickey along with her and they descended into the lower decks. Mickey’s brothers and Mandy Higgins followed them, so did Ian.

He tried his best to listen in on the conversations happening simultaneously in Ukrainian, Russian, and some other language that sounded either Turkic or Central Asian. Brother Number One was asking Mandy Number Two about her Swiss vacation, Brothers Two and Three bragged about their new mistresses, and Mickey was speaking to Mandy Higgins in that language that Ian could not translate.

Ian wished he had brought some recording paraphernalia with him. But from experience, he also knew that Mickey was uncannily efficient in detecting surveillance equipment. Anything he brought in wouldn’t just be useless but would also blow the whole operation up.

They walked onto more corridors and Ian tried to memorize everything to the best of his ability. When they reached the ballroom, he braced himself. He knew he was in for an otherworldly experience.

For a time, Ian was overwhelmed by the extravagance on display. The jewelled chandeliers and gold-rimmed wineglasses were not the only things that glittered under the soft lights. Most especially prominent were the elegantly-postured men and women in their expensive silk and jewels. He unexpectedly found very familiar faces therein, one California mayor and an Indian businessman who was wanted for felony tax evasion.

He watched as Mickey’s brothers started to disperse. Mandy Higgins accompanied Brother Number One to a door that proclaimed “Authorized Personnel Only”. Ian wanted to excuse himself to follow the man but he was deterred by the discreetly placed surveillance cameras.

He opted to observe the greater area instead and found a group of young socialites pawing at some businessmen who were obviously having a good time with them. When he squinted, he saw that the ladies were all wearing identical-looking pendants on their necks, a dainty golden swan studded with crystals forming an ‘S’. When he looked around some more, he discovered that some very good-looking young men were wearing the same pendants too. They were entertaining businessmen as well. And then it dawned on him, this wasn’t just a luxury cruise. This was a floating brothel.

His observations were cut short when Mickey, still being held tightly on the waist by Mandy Number Two, was greeted and kissed by a pregnant woman who looked very glamorous in her golden dress and diamonds. She also wore the ‘S’ pendant but with two swans intertwined. When she looked at Ian, he could sense a hint of a resigned sadness in her eyes. But she smiled at him nevertheless.

“And you are?” she asked in her thick Russian accent.

“Ian Gallagher,” Mickey replied for him. “McDermott’s son.”

Her eyes lit up upon hearing his fake father’s name. “Do you, by chance, have any merchandise with you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Ian replied. He immediately inferred that this woman was the madam of this ship. And she didn’t just sell people here but contraband drugs as well.

“Pity.” She held out a hand nevertheless and told him, “I’m Svetka. Mickey’s wife. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Ian didn’t know what else to do but smile awkwardly and receive her hand. “Nice to meet you too,” he murmured.

When he turned to Mickey, he found those blue eyes observing him intently as though measuring the extent of his discomfort. But instead of getting mad at being put in such an uncomfortable situation, he found that he didn’t mind it at all. If anything, it was his own nonchalance that made him angry. Mickey could throw him down a flaming volcano and he knew that he wouldn’t mind it one bit. It was both an infuriating and frightening realization.

Svetka shook his hand one more time and searched his face as though looking for something. She didn’t seem satisfied in the end but she smiled resignedly and let him go. Looking at her, Ian immediately understood that he wasn’t the only one caught in this maddening loop.

In Russian, Svetka spoke about some shortages in the Green Room and Mandy Number Two released Mickey to help her out. When the ladies were gone, Ian was left alone to deal with this man who seemed to enjoy pushing him to his limits.

Mickey slightly gestured him to follow and so he did, walking on until they reached a secluded spot overlooking the dark waves of the Atlantic.

“Well, I guess we’ve got you a wholesale buyer,” Mickey told him. “Svet wants your weed and she’ll need it in bulk.”

Ian couldn’t immediately comprehend what the other man was saying. He was still too caught up with his own tangled mess of feelings.

“But this is just a one-time deal, Red,” Mickey continued. “You think you can deliver?”

“W-What?” he stammered.

Mickey laughed at his stupidity. “Presence of mind, Bigfoot. Presence of mind.”

Ian swallowed hard. He couldn’t take this anymore. Without warning, he pushed Mickey into the wall and crushed their lips together. His mind was no longer working like he wanted it to, he was being overpowered by some enchantment he couldn’t break.

“Damn you, Gallagher,” Mickey gasped.

As he fumbled through their clothes, he figured that despite his incapacity to control himself around Mickey, he still had the ability to push through his plan. If he somehow failed at this, he’d be happy to die trying.

_-_

_-_

_tbc_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is too short and seems to go nowhere. I had to transition to the other part of the plot. I hope it's not too scattered or something. (^.^)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> 1\. WITSEC – Witness Security Protection Program (this is actually for Chapter 4 -^.^-)  
> 2\. DEA – Drug Enforcement Administration  
> 3\. DCE/SP - Domestic Cannabis Eradication/Suppression Program (still a DEA Program)  
> 4\. MS13/Mara Salvatrucha/Maras – a real life El Salvador crime group specializing in murders  
> 5\. This chapter is inspired by the gamelan rendition of Don Dapdape, a Balinese folk song.

-

-

He bit his lip as he was entered again. As the initial wave of pain hit him, he leaned his face on Ian’s and was comforted by the gentle kisses showered upon him. A large hand cradled him close as the thrusts started to speed up. Soon, the pleasure started to build up, blurring away the pain.

For a man with unusually cold hands and feet, Ian’s lovemaking was very warm and tender. He found himself wanting it again and again. To his luck, Ian was more than happy to indulge him. This wasn’t the first time he had a lover who couldn’t get enough of him. But this was the first time he had a lover he couldn’t get enough of.

Finally, when he felt that warm seed spilling deep inside him, he realized that they forgot to put on the condom again, but Mickey didn’t mind it anymore.

And then came the part that he liked best, the part where they just lay together waiting for sleep to take hold. As his consciousness started to slip, he basked in the soothing hardness of the body beside him, their hands still intertwined.

He knew that this affair was only temporary. Arrangements had already been made for his family’s incoming departure from the underworld. He had been very ready to leave for a long time, but now he found himself wanting to linger some more. But no matter his personal wishes, he would still have to say goodbye to these dreamlike moments, to this country boy who made him remember how wonderful it was to be alive. When that time comes, there would be no warning and Ian might end up hating him for it, but he knew he would selfishly hold on to these memories until the end.

He listened to the last tinkling drops of the warm summer rain outside Old Joe’s cabin, to the breeze gently rustling the leaves of the marijuana plants that dotted the plantation in beautiful, straight lines. He tightened his hold on those hands. When he felt Ian squeeze back, he smiled before he was claimed by a deep slumber.

-

-

Within the miniscule number of weeks that Ian had wormed his way into the Brotherhood by way of the Cornbreads, Kev was surprised by the amount of intel his partner had gathered. But what was more surprising was that most of those info had very little to do with the heroin trade.

By Ian’s account, the Brotherhood also dabbled in firearms smuggling, assassination and prostitution. The guns and ammo were stolen from Russia by local gangs, disassembled and then smuggled through the Crimean Peninsula, and then legally transported via cargo to the United States as ‘automotive parts’. The assassination service line was a blur at the moment, the only info being that the service was currently in partnership with MS13 and under the jurisdiction of one of the brothers of Mykyta Shostakovich whom Ian simply referred to as ‘Colin’.

The prostitution part was a more complicated affair, more of a joint venture with three other groups.  For the land-based ‘Red Temple Hotel’, the mainland Chinese supplied the ‘wellness experts’. For the ‘Golden Condor Luxury Cruise’, the Moldovans and the Serbs provided the ‘crew’. All three groups provided a portion of the security and got their take after business hours were over.

The heroin product line was even more blurry than the assassination game. Under the management of ‘Iggy’, another of the Shostakovich brothers, the Afghans did all the work from the planting to the manufacturing to the delivery. Even Ian still didn’t know how they transported the goods, only that their entry to the United States was actually legal and Iggy bitched a lot about the new regulations of the US Customs Service.  

Kev realized that their Ukrainians were like a phantom thread interwoven with so many other parts of the international mafia community. They didn’t seem to do everything on their own. They maintained their own loyal personnel for security purposes but had other groups do most of the jobs for them and always made sure they had someone else to blame if ever their operations were busted. On top of that, the data on them was very old, mostly dating four to five years back. Apart from Ian, no agent had ever come so close to the group and made real physical contact.

As they prepared everything for the incoming raid on the ‘Cornbread delivery site’, Kev wondered how his partner got all of those info so easily, what tactics he could have used to get them to talk to him so intimately. But he also knew that Ian had been a prodigy from the beginning, had achieved so much at such a young age that his personal life seemed to have suffered in exchange for his success. He had always felt some sympathy for the guy but he never tried coaxing him to open up. His private life was none of Kev’s business after all.

In a corner, he saw McDermott’s nervous face. Kev could still recall the old man’s hesitance to be an asset against the Brotherhood, his exasperation at the delay of turning him over to the US Marshals, and his fear at the prospect of being found out. 

_You don’t know how terrible those motherfuckers are_ , he recalled Joe’s words to Ian. _You’ve never seen how they kill people who cross them. It’s hell on earth. You’d be begging for death before the end._

Ian had placated the old man by reassuring him that his safety would be the DEA’s top priority. Joe was later taken aback by Ian’s seemingly genuine concern and sensitivity to his needs like a real son to his father. Within a single conversation, he was able to gain the man’s confidence. Kev was in awe.

Looking at his partner arranging the ‘merchandise’ one last time, Kev noticed the unusual perkiness of Ian’s movements. He smirked at that. He couldn’t help but feel the excitement himself. One of the benefits of the job was the exhilarating thrill whenever your life was on the line. Kind of the same thrill that a gambler experiences when the stakes were so high that losing the game could mean losing everything you have.

Finally, they were at the rendezvous point, Kev hiding on the bushes with the main bulk of the DCE/SP team while Ian was on the ground with the rest of the DEA plainclothes disguised as Cornbread members. Everything was already set.

After a few minutes of waiting, a faint shadow from a distance could be seen. Kev squinted but he still couldn’t see them clearly. He wished he could have used the optics in his standard-issue rifle but Ian advised against it, warned them of the Brotherhood’s unusual efficiency in spotting firearms and detecting surveillance. One accidental gleam from his rifle or even from a telescope could alert the group and the DEA’s well-prepared trap would be all for nothing.

As the men started to approach, Kev noticed that just as Ian had predicted, most of the Brotherhood’s goons weren’t Ukrainians but Latinos.

The group stopped halfway and Kev wondered why. All of a sudden, he heard a gun firing. He stepped back a bit. His chest was bleeding. The last thing he heard was another shot before everything went black.

-

-

Ian hadn’t predicted the following chaos that ensued but he retained enough presence of mind to escape with the Brotherhood and to continue with his charade. The Cornbreads were raided by the DEA and he didn’t know: that was his new script for the moment.

As the bullets ripped through the marijuana fields in wild abandon, he counted the number of casualties on the ground. Five of the MS13 guys were down. One of them desperately clung to the intestines that started to slither out of his furiously bleeding stomach. Finally, he too fell down.

 _Six,_ Ian finalized his count.

When he glanced over at the DEA’s side, he noticed that only three were wounded including Kev who was immediately rescued by the waiting medics.

 _Don’t die, buddy,_ he prayed.

A bullet grazed his cheek but he didn’t mind the sting. He sure did mind the dust choking him like mad and he crawled out of the battlefield to the best of his ability. When he reached one of the Brotherhood’s vans, he noticed that none of the Ukrainians were even remotely injured and he couldn’t help but admire Mickey’s loyalty to his own men, prioritizing their lives above all others’.

They closed the van and had it running at high speed. When Ian looked to the right side mirror, he saw the DEA plainclothes being ‘arrested’ together with some of the surviving Maras.

When they were on higher ground, he was surprised when the vehicle suddenly stopped. He could only look on as Jamie (i.e. Brother Number Three) stepped out and took the sniper rifle that Mickey handed to him. And there was absolutely nothing Ian could do but look on a little more as the man started firing at the Maras, blowing their brains out one at a time, until no one was left alive. The DEA’s side was on chaos again, the agents trying to ascertain the location of the attacker. But the firing had already stopped.

Having finished, Jamie handed the rifle back to Mickey and grinned at Ian. “Standard procedure was to kill your guys too. But since they weren’t one of our hired guns, we figured we didn’t have to.”

When he turned to Mickey, he could see a hint of softness in those eyes. Or maybe he just imagined it, ambitious bastard that he was. “You’re still fucking worried about your dad, right? Can’t do anything about it right now. You have to take care of yourself first and then we’ll get him the fuck out later.”

Ian carried on with his façade of shock and grief over his fake father’s capture. He had to pretend to be absolutely terrified for McDermott. In actuality, Joe was very relieved when Ian told him that his part in the assignment would be over after the raid.

As he watched the old man being shoved into one of the DEA’s vehicles, he felt a placating hand on his back. Despite his supposed disdain for criminals, Ian felt another wave of guilt hit him. He was a liar and a terrible asshole and he didn’t deserve any of this kindness. But Mickey didn’t know anything about his real intent and patted him reassuringly. “We’ll deal with it, alright? Come on, big guy. We have to go.”

Jamie simply shook his head at them and muttered, “Colin’s gonna be so pissed.”

They didn’t return to the van and instead simply walked away from the scene. Ian could still hear the slight tinkling of the vehicle’s parts as it was being speedily dismantled and then hidden completely in a large dugout under a bunch of dried vines. At each step a person took, the wet grass was slightly dented and stood back up. As the leaves continued to fall along with the tiny raindrops, all tracks were gone as though no human being had been on the place at all.

In a few minutes, Ian and the Ukrainians were in a forest so deep that even the sky wasn’t visible due to the thick foliage. Judging from the way his companions talked so casually, Ian surmised that they knew the terrain well and had used it on many occasions. They traversed a small, shallow river and followed its source. Upon finally reaching the middle of the mountain, Ian could now make out the rooftop of a mansion hidden therein.

It was almost evening when they reached the place. Jamie stretched his arms at the sight, visibly relaxing and muttering “home sweet home” when they arrived. But Ian had no time to relax. As soon as they stepped into the living room, Iggy and Colin were waiting for them, faces expressionless and unreadable.

Mandy Number Two i.e. Mandy Shostakovich was also present. Beside her was a fat, gray-haired man strapped to a chair. Ian stepped back as he saw that it was no other than Joe McDermott whose mouth was bleeding profusely. Mandy carefully placed a tooth on the nearby stainless tray along with the pliers stained with blood and spit. Ian counted four teeth and two fingernails on display.

Joe cracked one swollen eye open and mustered all of his remaining strength to say, “I didn’t rat you out. It’s not me.”

Colin nodded at that, eyes trained hard on Ian’s face, and said, “I believe you, Joe. I really do. But you’ve got to tell us everything you know. You’ve got to trust us the way we trust you. That’s how a good relationship is maintained, we trust you, you trust us. It’s a two-way street. Don’t you agree?”

Ian swallowed hard. So his plan wasn’t just flushed down the drain. He’d also get flushed along with it.

But Mickey was just as confused as he was. “What the fuck are you doing, Colin? Mandy? Iggy, say something.”

Iggy just shrugged and gestured at Joe. “Ask him.” He kicked the almost unconscious man’s bleeding feet. “Hey. Talk, motherfucker.”

“It wasn’t me. Please, let me go,” Joe begged, sobbing unashamedly.

Mandy smiled and purred. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Your son is here for you.”

Joe shook his head in both delirium and desperation. “No, no, no! He’s not my son, that man. I don’t even know his real name. He’s a fucking DEA agent.”

Ian expected his heart rate to go up but it didn’t. Instead, he was overcome by a deluge of remorse especially when he saw that look in Mickey’s eyes.

Jamie also looked surprised but simply plopped himself on the sofa. “Well, hello, agent.”

_-_

_-_

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic depictions of violence i.e. slow removal of body parts and peeling of skin while the person is still alive, decapitation, and the disposal of a corpse. It’s kind of disgusting. If gore is not your cup of tea, please skip the part with the smiley. (^.^) When the smiley winks (^.~), the bloody scene is over.

-

-

There was an anxiety gnawing in Ian’s gut, but it wasn’t for himself and his incoming death. It was for Mickey, for the pain he must be feeling right now because of such a betrayal. Ian wanted to hold him tight and apologize over and over again. He wanted his man to get angry and retaliate, to stab him, punch him, shoot him till his skull was broken into a thousand fragments. Even if he did that, Ian would still be so guilty that an eternity in hell wouldn’t be enough to punish him.

But there was no anger in Mickey’s eyes. Just disappointment and understanding and that tinge of sorrow that Ian wanted to kiss away. When he saw those blue eyes blink away unshed tears, a lump immediately formed on Ian’s throat. This was killing him more than any bullet or blade could possibly do.

Mickey took a deep breath and nodded. And then he smiled faintly, no bitterness or resentment. “Well, agent, I guess your mission will remain unaccomplished.”

Mandy looked alarmed. “Hey, don’t kill the guy. The DEA will be on our tails.”

“Yeah, just break his arms and legs and pluck out his eyes and pull out his tongue and it will all be over,” Jamie said lazily fingering his rifle.

“Shut the fuck up!” she railed at her brother.

Jamie raised an eyebrow at her. “What are we gonna do then, bitch? Hug him?”

Iggy chuckled at that while Colin snorted angrily.

Mickey ignored them and silently chose from the bloodied instruments on the steel tray. He settled on the knife and took it in his hands. “We can’t kill you,” he told Ian. “God knows how the DEA hits back when its agents go missing. We have to let you go. But first, I’d like you to do something for me.”

Ian wanted to say ‘Anything. Anything for you. I will do anything you ask me to. Please let me hold you one last time.’ But his voice just wouldn’t come out without him sounding like a pussy. And so, he simply nodded.

His lover handed him the blade and gestured to the old man on the chair. “I want you to kill him. For me.”

He immediately understood what Mickey wanted. He wanted him to commit a murder and then blackmail him for it. They could indict him for a crime if he didn’t comply with their wishes. That way, he would always be under the thrall of the Brotherhood and would be compelled not to disclose the intel he still holds.

Ian noticed that he didn’t care anymore, didn’t care if his good name would be stained and dragged to the dirt. There was only one thing he wanted. “If I do this,” he said, the desperation in his voice clearly showing, “would you let me kiss you? Please, just one last time?”

Colin immediately reacted with a loud ‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ while Mandy shushed him and Jamie elbowed her.

Mickey bit his lips and chuckled, tears falling from his eyes. “No,” he said simply.

This was a punishment. Mickey would deny him his final wish and then disappear forever afterwards. Ian’s heart was torn, but at least he’d still be able to do him one last favor.

When he blinked, he noticed his own vision getting blurred. He wiped the tears by the back of his hands and looked once more at the man bestowed upon him by the magic of the blood moon. He had always believed that fairy tales all end up with a happy ever after. But his story might be an exception to the rule.

Ian swallowed his tears and took the knife. From a distance, he could hear Iggy taking out a handheld camera. He didn’t care anymore.

“How do you want me to kill him?” he asked.

 

(^.^)

 

“First, you have to peel off his face,” Mickey said. “Make it a souvenir.”

Ian nodded and proceeded to obey.

Joe, weakened as he was, understood what was coming for him and he screamed at Ian, “Don’t do this to me, please! Just kill me! Please, agent! I didn’t mean to rat you out, I swear to God! Please forgive me! Please! Please, kill me! Kill me!”

But Ian couldn’t hear the man’s pleas. All he knew was that this was Mickey’s one last request and he will fulfill it to the letter to the best of his ability.

He pointed the edge of the blade to Joe’s hairline just above his left ear and pushed. The old man thrashed and tried to pull his head away amid frantic screaming. As a result, the knife slashed him in odd angles and destroyed Ian’s planned handiwork. To keep the man from moving needlessly, he used his other hand to force the man’s head in position. Then he started plunge in the knife, this time on the right side. It was still as bloody as the first try but at least the line was straighter.

It took him a while but he managed to take Joe’s face off like some sort of a mask. He did a terrible job, took some facial muscles out, and left one eyeball hanging to the man’s cheek due to his premature pulling on the eyelids. But he did succeed and placed the face on the stainless tray beside the man’s teeth and fingernails.

He stayed silent and awaited further instructions. This time, he was given a hacksaw.

“Cut off his limbs. Start on the knees and elbows, then the juncture on the thighs and armpits.”              

He took the instrument and did as he was bid. This time, the task was easier and he managed to cut off all four limbs without a hitch. He noticed the silence from Mickey’s siblings and he appreciated the respect they now seemed to give him.

Next, he was given another knife, a larger one. “Open up the stomach and remove his insides,” Mickey told him.

Just as before, he obeyed as he was commanded. With the knife on his hands, he tore open the man’s shirt, then his belly. He started on the lower chest part and then proceeded to slice his way down. When the first of the intestines were pulled out, Ian noticed that Joe wasn’t screaming anymore. He must’ve passed out from the pain or was already on the verge of death. Ian kept on with his job until everything was outside of Joe’s main body including his lungs, heart, kidneys, and all other parts that weren’t recognizable anymore.

When he was finished, Ian stood back and waited. Mickey didn’t address him and instead nodded at the junior members of the Brotherhood who were watching the proceedings in dead silence. They brought in a rectangular aluminum box. When the men started to touch Joe’s body parts lying on the tiled floor, Mickey waved them off. “No, Ian is going to do this,” he told them.

Taking that as a cue, Ian knelt on the floor, took the parts, and fed them to the container. He carefully peeled off the clothes still stuck to the bloodied skin before placing the pieces therein. Joe’s large body was a lot more tricky to handle. The box wasn’t that big and Ian must figure out how to maximize the space and fit everything in somehow. And so, he took the hacksaw once more, sliced off the man’s neck and then divided up the torso. Sure enough, the now-smaller parts were snugly in the comfort of its comrades.

The last part was the head. Ian assumed that Mickey wouldn’t want Joe to be easily identified if ever he were found, hence the face-off. But to make him even harder to assemble together, he decided to break him open even further. He took the hammer and the smaller knife. It wouldn’t be as efficient as a chisel would but he had no other option.

Pulling the decapitated head by its hair, he made it stand on the floor and then started to pound. In a few minutes, the skull started to crack and then crack some more. When he judged the fissures to be sufficient, he put down the hammer, carefully placed the head above the other body parts on the box and slowly sliced until the bones gave way. Soon enough, Joe’s softened brains and ruptured eyeballs had become part of the whole ensemble, mixing with the blood and turning the liquid into a lighter shade of pink.

 

(^.~)

 

When the deed was done, Ian stood up, knife still on one hand and looked at Mickey once more. He didn’t mind the stunned gazes he got from the others. All that mattered to him was this man and no one else.

Mickey stared back at him, his eyes coldly telling Ian that he was now an evil person too, that he had no moral high ground or any of that sort. He just made a human being suffer needlessly before killing him; he was a criminal too just like Mickey, just like the members of the Brotherhood, just like every other murderer on the planet. Ian gladly acknowledged that fact, gladly accepted the agony inflicted by that new blight on his conscience. If that’s what it took to make his beloved person get some sort of justice, then he would gladly carry this guilt for the rest of his life.

He heard the camera being turned off with a click. Now the Ukrainians had the digital evidence of his crime and would use it against him whenever necessary. Now that his part was over, he knew he wasn’t needed anymore. But Ian didn’t want to go just yet.

He returned the knife on its rightful place beside Joe’s ripped-off face and went up to this man who made him forget everything else all for the sake of this indescribable feeling that was starting to squeeze all of his sanity away. Mickey’s siblings looked alarmed. Colin in particular took a switchblade from his pocket and pointed it at Ian’s neck. But Ian was too far gone to acknowledge any pain other than the one in his heart. He pressed on, not minding that there was a blade digging into his throat. Colin had to withdraw the weapon or he really would puncture Ian’s neck and kill him.

When Ian was standing close to his man, he remembered the filth in his hands and he wiped it off unceremoniously on his pants. Even with that, he still judged himself so unworthy to touch Mickey again. And so, he held himself back, endured the ache of not being able to embrace him when he was so near. Then he took a deep breath.

“You won’t probably believe me when I say this,” Ian started, “but I love you, Mickey, more than anyone, more than anything in the world. You’ve made me feel something that I thought someone like me will never be able to feel. So thank you for the memories, thank you for those short moments that we’ve been together. I know that you probably don’t want to see me ever again. But just know that you will always be in my heart until the day I die.”

Never in his life had he been so honest.  It sounded cheesy, Ian knew, but those were his deepest feelings. Mickey could accept it or throw it away. What was important was that he got those out of his chest before they parted.

“I’d also like to tell you that I’m not sorry for being who I am,” Ian continued. “If not for my job, I wouldn’t have met you. I thought that by doing what I did, I would be able to save you and keep you safe. I kinda overestimated myself, didn’t I?” He smiled sheepishly, unmindful of the tears forming in his eyes.

There was a deep silence that permeated the room as Mickey tried to process everything that was said. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, seemingly unsure of what to say. He looked at Ian once more but the coldness in his eyes was gone, replaced with wonder. Finally, he spoke, “I made you kill someone in a messy way and kept digital evidence to blackmail you and you still love me for it?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Mickey blinked, face still etched with disbelief. “You’re fucking insane, man.”

Ian chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I probably am.”

There was something in his man's face that Ian could not read. And to his endless surprise, Mickey touched his bloodied hands, held them until their fingers were intertwined. When he looked up at Ian, there was that warmth again in his eyes that was more beautiful than any star in the sky.

“Why can’t you just tell me goodbye?” he told Ian. “You’re making me feel guilty as fuck.”

Ian laughed lightly and that, his hands holding Mickey tighter but as carefully as he could. He now knew what his hands could do to hurt somebody and he didn’t want to do that to person he loved most. 

“That’s the plan all along,” Ian said jokingly although he knew deep down that he was telling the truth. “You’re leaving me so I want you to feel all of that guilt, make you feel terrible about yourself. Because with that, you will always remember me and never forget the days you’ve spent by my side. I know it’s all my fault but I’m kinda selfish that way.”

Everything sounded so damn fucking corny that Ian started to feel the embarrassment creep up to his cheeks. Never mind that he just killed someone and that he was still reeking of blood. Fortunately, Mickey didn’t call him out on it. Instead, he seemed to be touched by Ian’s words, almost overwhelmed with emotion that tears began to form in his eyes once more. And then he hiccupped.

Ian couldn’t suppress a chuckle when he heard that sound. Mickey pulled his hands away and scowled. And hiccupped again.

“Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Biting his lips to suppress another laugh, Ian pulled Mickey back and cradled him in his arms. With the still clean part of his sleeve, he wiped away the droplets of tears falling on those cheeks. Mickey hiccupped again and Ian couldn’t help but hug him tight and kiss his temple.

And then all of a sudden, he felt something blunt hit his head. Ian blinked a few times but he couldn’t stop himself from falling down. His eyes started to close involuntarily and he could feel people lifting him and placing him comfortably on some soft recliner. He could hear Mickey saying ‘What the fuck, Iggy?’ and Iggy replying ‘You motherfuckers sound like some cheesy, annoying couple in a sitcom and I just can’t stand it anymore’.

Ian smiled at that before everything went completely black.

-

-

_tbc_

_._

_._

_._

_This chapter is inspired by the Junjou Romantica pairing of Kusama Noaki and Kamijou Hiroki. I really, really love them so, so much. Most of the dialogue in this chapter is a reference to those guys. Mickey’s cutesy scene is also inspired by[this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ikuLn2OR41w) anime clip._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh heck, it got lopsided again. Anyways, this story has seven chapters symbolically divided into two parts – three chapters are dedicated to the “Tryzub” and four to the “Bogha Bríde”. 
> 
> The “Tryzub” or the Coat of Arms of Ukraine is illustrated as a golden trident in a blue field and is loosely associated with the sea god Poseidon (hence, this story’s frequent usage of water; also a reference to Mickey/Noel Fisher’s pretty blue eyes, I really, really, really love the guy). 
> 
> The “Bogha Bríde” or Brigid’s Cross is an Irish symbol associated with Brigid of Kildare, a mystical figure venerated as a Roman Catholic saint but also known as one of the Tuatha Dé Danann lit. ‘people of the goddess Danu’ (reference as to why Ian has an inherited knowledge of blood magic).
> 
> Yeah, I’m kind of a research geek. Please don’t pummel me too hard. (^.~)
> 
> *Edit: This fanfic is unbeta'ed. All mistakes are mine.

-

-

Ian woke up to the sound of birds chirping. When he moved, he felt a dull pain at the back of his head. There was also that itchy soreness on his neck and his left cheek. He opened his eyes and blinked languidly, his vision adjusting to the harsh, sunlit brightness of the room. Finally, he sat up and was surprised to find himself completely naked, his body clean and smelling of soap and covered from feet to chest with soft white sheets.

As the cobwebs of his mind started to unravel, he remembered everything that happened last night, how Mickey discovered his lies, how he killed Joe (may his soul rest in peace), how his lover lightly chastised him for making him feel guilty about leaving.

Alarmed at the direction his memory was heading, Ian immediately stood up and looked around. He wobbled a bit, his feet still unsteady and his head spinning a little. But there was no time to waste. He had to find Mickey.

But no matter where he looked, all he saw was a completely empty house. No people, no furniture, no appliances, even the lightbulbs were missing. He also smelled something on the floor, the faintest scent of an oxygenated cleaning agent used to remove all traces of what had happened. From experience, he knew that not even Tylenol or ultraviolet light could detect any evidence therein because everything had simply disappeared.

For few moments, he stood there rooted to the spot, his mind slowly processing everything until he came to the inevitable realization. Mickey was gone and Ian would never see him again.

He knew he should have expected this. Despite their mutual understanding of each other’s feelings, he did know back then that Mickey would never abandon his family, would never destroy what he had built over the years for the sake of some man he had known for a very short time. And Ian was a man who couldn’t be honest until he was forced to; surely, Mickey had every justification to leave him.

Despite his obvious fault, Ian wanted to be angry, be enraged for being cheated like that, furious that the person he loved didn’t love him as strongly or as passionately as he had. But to his dismay, there was no fire in him, only regret and that indescribable pain pounding hard into his very soul. Now his little star was gone and he was back to his frozen mountain of loneliness, his heart left with a gaping hole that nothing and no one else could fill.

He didn’t know exactly how many hours he spent on that house crying his heart out like a fucking child. All he knew was that when he finally regained his senses, it was already afternoon.

He sat back on the mattress, wiped away the tears and snot from his puffy face. It was only then that he noticed the clothes neatly folded together, complete with socks and underwear. There was also the pair of rubber shoes on the corner. Beside it was a carefully wrapped lunchbox and a one-liter bottle of mineral water.

And he laughed despite himself. Mickey did care about him. At least cared enough to make sure he didn’t go cold or hungry or thirsty even just for a day. He may have left Ian forever but at least he still left some things Ian could remember him by. Ian decided that we would take everything he could carry – these were Mickey’s gifts to him and he will take every single one as a memento.

Composing himself, Ian dressed up and rolled the mattress. The pillow, the lunchbox and the bottled water were enfolded by the foam while the blanket and the bedsheet doubly served as the outer wrapping and handle. Lifting experimentally, he found that it wasn’t too heavy and he carried everything in one hand. And then he set out towards the path back to the outer world.

He followed the river once more until he reached the forest’s exit. On the mound of vines where he remembered the Brotherhood hiding the dismantled van, there was a motorcycle, brand new and untouched with a helmet hanging on one of the side mirrors. When he checked, he found the tank fully loaded with gas. There was also some reserve fuel in a hidden compartment.

There was a new lump forming on his throat and he felt like he was about to cry again. But he calmed himself, took a deep breath, and arranged his ‘cargo’. After taking one last look at the forest, he started the engine and drove into the sunset.

-

-

Today was his day off and Lip was lounging by the pool but he was by no means just relaxing. He had been patiently waiting for an update about his brother.

It wasn’t on the news, the data being classified and all, but he had an insider in the DEA who told him about Ian being missing for almost four days now after an unsuccessful raid against the Ukrainian mafia. He also learned about the suspiciously missing data about the aforementioned group. The case files, photos and facial sketches of the bosses and members, records of financial transactions, phone calls, texts and emails intercepted by the DEA, all had mysteriously disappeared without a trace. Whether it was hacked or simply deleted, it was speculated that the said info were taken out by someone who had an official access to it.

Upon receiving the info, Lip couldn’t help but speculate that his little brother had done something stupid and might be in an extremely dangerous pinch right now. The worst case scenario would be that he was captured by the mafia group, blackmailed to delete his own findings, and then killed mercilessly with his body secretly buried in fuck knows where.

Lip took a swig of whiskey and clutched the bottle nervously. He hadn’t told any of his other siblings about it yet. If his hypothesis was correct, he would have to prepare them first for the inevitable grief.

All of a sudden, there was a tap on his shoulder and he had almost jumped into the pool. When he turned back, he was shocked to find his ‘missing’ brother apologetically smiling at him.

“What the fuck, Ian!” he blurted out. When the initial shock had started to come down, he pulled his brother close and hugged him. “What the fuck,” he said, a little less forceful this time. “I was told you were MIA. Where have you been?” He now saw the band-aid on Ian’s cheek and the patch on his throat. “Are you hurt? Is it bad? What happened to you?”

To his chagrin, Ian decided not to answer any of his questions. “Lip, I need a favor. I need you to contact Sammi.”

At the mention of their half-sister’s name, Lip gaped in disbelief. Surely, Ian didn’t mean what he just implied. He eyed his brother and confirmed it. Ian did something very, very stupid and was about to do something even more stupid. _Oh, boy._

-

-

Mickey stared at the name carved in the tombstone.

‘Ian Clayton Gallagher, born February 1, 199X, died March 17, 201X.’

When he read the obituary on the local newspaper, he didn’t immediately believe it. It could be someone else, he told himself. He was in denial even with the clear picture of Ian on the page. He just couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it.

And then he tried to dig some info. Apparently, Ian had killed himself for reasons still unknown. The police suspected it to be something else but the family didn’t want an autopsy. They arranged for an immediate burial in accordance to Ian’s last wishes on the suicide note he left.

Even with all that information, Mickey still refused to believe it. He said to himself that he wouldn’t believe anything until he saw tangible proof. And true to that, here he was, standing before his lover’s grave. It was so surreal.

“Your friend?” his father-in-law asked.

“Yeah,” he replied blandly, his tone suppressing the extent of his grief. “Wasn’t able to attend his funeral so I figured I’d visit.”

He casually touched the stone and made the sign of the cross. He wanted to touch Ian’s low-quality glassy picture embedded therein but he refrained from doing so. _Not here_ , he told himself. Not with Svetlana’s father and his own children watching.

After spending a few minutes trying his best to calm himself down, he left Ian and walked towards his wife’s tomb just a few meters away. Ian and Svetlana had now become cemetery-neighbors and Mickey couldn’t decide if he wanted to cry or rage at God’s morbid sense of humor.

Just a month before Ian’s death, Svetlana had also passed away. And just like Ian, she had willingly opted to die albeit with a more virtuous, noble-sounding twist. Her latest pregnancy was an extremely perilous one and Mickey had tried to talk her out of it. They already had four children to contend with. Why risk her neck to add another one? But she insisted on it, told him that it was her duty as a mother to prioritize her baby’s life above her own. And just before she was wheeled into the delivery room after he signed the waiver, she held his hand and told him that she loved him.

Mickey sighed at the memory. Even during her dying day, he couldn’t force himself to reciprocate her feelings. He could had have just lied but he didn’t want to. She had always emphasized honesty between them and he wanted to honor that.

He never loved her the way she loved him. He suffered the ‘marital duties’ he had to perform as a consequence of his father selling him to her family. But she had become his best friend and confidante through their long years together. She was his staunchest supporter during the turbulent breakaway of the Ukrainian Brotherhood from her father’s own mob. She bore him five children which he never wanted at first but certainly warmed his heart afterwards. For everything that she did for him, he was forever grateful. Now that she had departed from this world, as her friend and husband, he could only wish her good luck on her sojourn to the other one.

The flames crackled, the fragrant smoke of the burning funeral wreaths rose up in the air, and the priest said his prayers for the customary fortieth-day memorial after her burial. As he looked into the fire, Mickey felt as though the burden within him had also been cast away. He was free now, free to love whomever he wanted without the guilt of upsetting his poor wife. It was only unfortunate that Ian wasn’t able to wait for him and had ended himself in his grief.

Maybe it was all his fault for not saying anything, for never telling Ian that despite him being a DEA agent in disguise, despite his lies and his trickery, Mickey had planned to find him again. But Ian was gone now and as much as Mickey loved him, he had to move on.

He fingered the pendant of his necklace, inside of which was the button from Ian’s shirt ripped out during their first time on that yacht. There was that warm feeling seeping into him that made his chest constrict in pain.

“Dad, are you okay?” Yevgeny whispered to him.

Mickey hastily wiped the tears away. “I’m fine.”

He heard his son murmur unintelligibly and Alexa immediately handed him a bottle of mineral water. She looked worried and stayed close to him throughout the service. Yuri and Max followed their elder sister’s example and stood close to their father as well. Mickey secretly apologized to his wife’s spirit for appearing to be grieving for her when in truth he was grieving for someone else.

During their short travel back home, his children kept throwing worried glances at him. Mickey took a deep breath and calmed himself. He had to stay strong for his family, especially now that Svetlana was gone.

When they finally arrived home, he took his youngest from her caretaker who assisted him in strapping little Sophie on the baby carrier on his chest.

Now that her money-laundering days are over, Mimi had decided to return to her previous job as a nanny to Mickey’s children. Without Mandy constantly heckling her to be more fashionable, she had resumed wearing her hijab which, in Mickey’s opinion, made her look less wild and more respectable. Her husband Dyma hadn’t really changed jobs; he was Mickey’s head bodyguard from the very beginning and he still is.

As his children sat on the living room with their grandfather, Mickey resolved to be there for them a bit more. Now that the Brotherhood had disbanded, he was back to basic as a good, upstanding civilian. He still retained his private army but hey, it was common sense for all good businessmen to retain an armed force for self defense. But anyway, now that he was back to being an ordinary citizen, he had gained the luxury to be a regular father who could spend more quality time with his kids. He had fifteen years of backlog and he must do his absolute best to catch up.

While he was deep into his musings, Sophie yawned and stuck out her little hand. Mickey smiled and kissed her tiny fingers.

And so, even as he lamented for his lover deep inside, he decided that he still had a life worth living. Maybe he would visit Ian again sometime and give him proper flowers the next time around.

-

-

Ian handed out the results for this class’s first periodical examinations. So far, all of the students passed with above average marks despite the national majority’s disdain for higher mathematics as a high school subject.

He had come a long way. After he tampered with the DEA’s intel by deleting every single information they had about the Ukrainian Brotherhood, he realized that he didn’t really want to ruin himself by going to jail. So he sought the help of his estranged half-sister. Sammi wasn’t very glad to see him but she immediately changed her tone at the offer of three hundred thousand dollars.

And now, two years later, here he was, reborn as his sister’s son and serving as a new teacher in Gold Coast’s Latin School of Chicago. Today was his first day and his first hurdle in entrenching himself in this new environment.

He had wanted to return to his family home in the Southside but he stopped himself from doing so. He couldn’t risk coming face to face with his old neighbors after putting his own picture in the local paper’s obituary.

When Ian first came to him, Lip had looked at him like he was crazy. But his brother helped him nevertheless, got a cadaver for him which was immediately buried amid fake weeping and exaggerated eulogies. Fiona and Debbie could transform into award-winning actresses when he needed them to be, and so they did. But they also took their share of his ‘estate’ afterwards. Majority of his money and properties went to Lip and through him, Ian could still access his cash and enjoy the finer things in life.

It was also Lip who had advised him what new profession to pursue and where to apply. Through his brother’s connections, Ian gained experience in New York and then transferred to one of the most prestigious schools in the country. So far, everything went smoothly and the only regret Ian had was his new legal status as the older brother to Sammi’s mentally retarded son.

As he carried on with his task, he couldn’t help but be amused as the remnants of his past self still lingered around to haunt him.

 _Yevgeny Lazarev Milkovich_ , he read from the test paper. Possibly a descendant of his hometown’s thugs, he surmised. But his A+ mark, and frankly his presence in such a prominent school, couldn’t possibly come from Old Terry’s stock, no offense to the man.

When he handed out the student’s paper, he was struck by the sight of unearthly blue eyes. It reminded him someone he had been trying desperately to move on from.  

Yevgeny took his test paper and murmured something in Ukrainian.

“What was that?” Ian asked.

“Nothing,” the student replied, absently playing with his pen.

“Well, you can’t just say something like in class, Mr. Milkovich,” Ian told him.

Upon hearing his words, Yevgeny looked up at him, a faint smirk gracing his lips. “Sorry, Mr. Slott. It won’t happen again.”

Ian had to tear himself away to stop staring. It wasn’t just inappropriate for a teacher to gaze at a student like that. It was fucking creepy. He had to remind himself that he didn’t want to be falsely accused of pedophilia and get kicked out of this job. But deep down, he couldn’t help but feel some hope rising from within. Those blue eyes and even that straight blond hair evoked certain memories best left in a safety box.

When the class proceeded once more, Ian did his best to look away from that student. He didn’t want to entertain that false hope that Yevgeny was somewhat related to that someone he once knew.

He carried on with the lesson, blabbered about Differential Calculus and started from where the previous teacher had left. Fortunately, the Milkovich kid was a quiet student and simply absorbed the lesson without distracting Ian too much. 

Still, he realized that this situation was like a ticking time bomb. He knew that those feelings were still there, but he no longer had the liberty to ruin his life again. Lip’s reputation was now on the line too and Ian couldn’t put his brother at risk no matter what. He had to resolve this as soon as possible.

Finally, the bell rang and Ian was glad to be on the phone with Lip.

“I need to resign. I can’t be in this school. There’s a student – well – I just – I can’t do this job,” he blurted out.

But Lip seemed not to catch a word he said and told him, “Look, I’m sorry I’m on a rush. If it’s really an emergency, I’ll meet you at Viceroy, six pm. Hopefully, the meeting will be over by then but if not, wait for me at the lobby. I have to go. I love you. Bye.”

When the call ended, Ian sat back on his chair and palmed his face. It’s been two years since then and he finally had his shit together. Granted that he had been celibate the entire time, but still, he had managed to start his life anew. A clean slate to put it in a psychological sense. But one simple reminder of Mickey and he was going crazy all over again. This has to stop. The only problem was that he didn’t know how.

-

-

It was only five fifteen and Ian was already flagging a taxi. He was a mess, his hair was a mess, everything was a mess. Lip would be so pissed with him after this and would probably stop helping him ever again. But Ian needed to get out of that school both for his brother’s sake and his.

When he was inside, he was surprised when someone else pushed into the car.

“What the fuck!” he exclaimed. He was about to rail at the offender when he was accosted by blond hair and those startlingly Mickey-like blue eyes. “What the fuck,” he repeated, his tone a bit more defeated.

“Viceroy Chicago,” Yevgeny said.

The driver raised an eyebrow at the kid but Ian merely nodded. “That’s where I’m going also.”

The man simply drove towards the destination and refrained from asking further questions.

Yevgeny did talk in a casually apologetic tone. “I’m so sorry for barging in, Mr. Slott. But I really need to be there at five thirty sharp or my dad will kill me. Literally.”

“It’s okay,” Ian said, his mind flying. He consoled himself by reasoning that this predicament was probably Heaven exacting divine punishment upon him for killing Old Joe. That should be it. Maybe God didn’t want his soul to go to hell and that was why he was being tortured right now. So that he could repent. The kid on the other hand didn’t seem to realize his teacher’s mental state and sat there quietly, his ears plugged with earphones.

Upon reaching their destination, Ian was surprised when Yevgeny paid his share on the taxi and even gave the driver a huge tip. “For your trouble,” he said in an absurdly mature way for a sophomore kid and then disappeared into the building.

As he got out of the taxi, he sighed hard and texted Lip. To his brother’s credit, the reply was almost immediate. ‘Regatta Room. You can barge in, meeting’s over.’

He sighed once more, tried to get himself together. He thought he saw a red moon somewhere and he squinted hard. It was just a poster of a regular moon that got reddened by the lights from a passing ambulance. He was getting unbelievably crazy right now and he needed to cut it out.

He shook his head hard and asked the receptionist about the texted venue. The young woman looked a bit surprised but led him to the place nevertheless.

Finally, he opened the door and went in. His nerves were still frayed as fuck but he managed to make out the figure of an obviously Muslim woman in a very plain but formal-looking beige ensemble. She was carrying a baby, feeding it with a bottle. But when she lifted her head a little, he immediately recognized her. _Mandy Higgins._

No, he told himself. His vision was playing tricks on him.

When he saw Yevgeny Milkovich beside the chairman’s seat talking casually to the men in suits, he confirmed that his eyes really were deceiving him. He was going crazy and maybe even this place was just his imagination.

All of a sudden, he heard Lip’s voice calling him. When Ian didn’t acknowledge him, he went out of his way to take him by the elbow and drag him elegantly towards the table. The faces therein were very familiar and they stared at Ian in obvious astonishment.

Lip didn’t notice their surprise and introduced him. “This is the man I’ve been talking about, gentlemen. Cillian Jervis Slott. He is currently working on a part time teaching job but his resume is loaded with experience in the field of security back from his hometown in South Africa.”

His brother still hadn’t figured that neither his intended audience nor the subject of his shameless marketing plug were listening to him. Lip whispered, “Ian, I kind of got you a potential full time job. You can still work at the school part time, but if these guys give the okay on you, you’ve got to take it. This one is a whole lot better.”

But Ian wasn’t interested in further job prospects. His eyes were fixed upon that face that had been a constant in his dreams and daydreams for two whole years.

“Mickey?” he said.

There was no answer, just a pair of stunned eyes gazing back at him in utter disbelief. Ian’s vision had started to blur and the only solution his head came up with was to walk closer to that man, and closer, and closer still until their faces were almost touching. Even when he was already very close, his eyes were still blurry and he didn’t know why. He felt those fingers wiping away the tears falling down his face and it was only then that Ian realized that he had been crying really hard.

For a moment, he thought he heard someone saying ‘Come on, let’s leave them for a while’ and another saying ‘That guy is my new teacher’ and Lip’s voice muttering ‘So, they know each other?’

To Ian, everything else was a haze. The only thing that seemed to tether his mind into coherence was that warm touch. He knew that this was just an illusion but it was fire in the midst of a snowstorm. He wanted more of it.

He took those hands in his own and showered them with kisses. They didn’t disappear like a normal apparition would and so he decided to take it even further. He wrapped that body in his arms, touched their foreheads, and pressed their lips together. Mickey was still there, he didn’t dissolve or something. Ian knew that this was just a dream but he decided that he would take full advantage.

When he deepened the kiss, Mickey opened up to him completely and he savored every moment of it. His hands started to travel and when he touched a particularly sensitive spot, he was rewarded with a soft moan. All of a sudden, those hands started to push him lightly.

“Ian, please, not here –”

But Ian couldn’t stop. He needed to take this opportunity. So far, it felt so real, so unlike the dreams he had during those lonely nights spent in solitude.

He laid him down the conference table and pushed away everything on their way. This time, Mickey didn’t protest anymore. There were clanking sounds but the floor was richly carpeted and nothing seemed to be broken. When their lips met once more, he felt those hands gently caressing his neck. Taking it as an encouragement, he started to undo his belt.

As their clothes fell down one by one, Ian’s mouth started to travel down. But, he reminded himself, Mickey could be gone at any moment. No time for too much foreplay. And so, he went back up and captured those lips again, and then positioned himself.

On the first of his thrusts, he thought he saw dark eyelashes blinking back tears. But from the bright glow in Mickey’s eyes, he realized that it wasn’t caused by the initial pain of their joining but from the disbelief his lover still seemed to hold. Ian understood him completely, the feeling was mutual.

The pace started to speed up and Ian could feel himself melting away from the intense pleasure electrifying his entire being. It was as if the universe itself was being destroyed and then created over and over again. At that one final explosion, Ian felt as though his very spirit had departed from his body. Fortunately, he had Mickey with him. Together, they descended back to the mortal realm once again.

They lay together for a while, their breathing starting to stabilize once more. Just like those good old days, Ian cradled Mickey in his arms and kissed him languidly, their hands intertwined.

“Damn,” Mickey murmured breaking the silence. “It’s really you, huh?”

Ian chuckled at that. He still couldn’t believe that this was real, but it seemed like he had to suspend his disbelief indefinitely. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“You’re still Ian though right?” Mickey asked.

“Yes, still Ian,” he confirmed. From a corner of his eye, he caught the lapel on the open shirt Mickey was still wearing. “And you’re still Mickey even if you changed your name, Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich.”

Mickey laughed lightly at that. “That’s my real name, Bigfoot.”

-

-

When they were back at the lobby, Ian was met with accusing stares both from Mickey’s brothers and his own brother. Yevgeny was indifferent and simply stated, “So you’re my dad’s boyfriend, huh. Tough luck.”

Mickey glared at the kid while Ian merely chuckled. And then he realized something. “This little man is your son? How old are you exactly?”

“Yevgeny is seventeen, he is my eldest, and I had him when I was twenty one. Do the math, tough guy.”

So thirty eight, Ian calculated. Ten years his senior. “Why do you look like we’re the same age? You have some knowledge of black magic or something?” he teased.

Lip inserted himself and blabbered. “It's a natural physiological occurrence, Ian. It’s called neoteny. It’s when a person retains juvenile features well into adulthood –”

Ian decided to ignore his brother. Yevgeny and Iggy were listening intently though. Lip only stopped talking when Jamie pointed at the phenomenon happening outside.

“Lunar eclipse, right?” Colin said. “Kind of a bad luck, isn’t it?”

“In some legends, it’s actually a good luck sign," Ian told him. "Lip, can you tell us about it?”

Once more, Lip launched into another lecture about a Southern Gaelic tribal ritual invoking the power of the moon for easy childbirth and for creating potent love spells and whatnot. As the Milkovich brothers (and kid) were enraptured by the tale, Ian held Mickey’s hand and kissed him. Despite everything they had been through, it still worked out in the end.

As the blood moon shone brightly in the sky, Ian secretly sent a thank you. There was neither scientific basis nor a proof of causation but his heart was filled with gratitude nevertheless, filled with indescribable happiness for his fairy tale’s happy ever after.

_-_

_-_

_The End._

-^.^-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, I kinda had to research a lot of names for this fanfic and it’ll be such a waste not to show them all so here they are:  
> 1\. Mickey – alias: Mykyta Myroslav Shostakovich, original name: Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich (canon)  
> 2\. Ian – original name: Ian Clayton Gallagher (canon), new name: Cillian Jervis Slott  
> 3\. Svetlana – Svetlana Yevgenivna Bogdanova (maiden name)  
> 4\. Mickey’s kids by order of birth :  
> * Yegveny Lazarev (Yev)  
> * Aleksandra Tatiana (Alexa)  
> * Yuriy Anatoly (Yuri)  
> * Yulian Maksym (Max)  
> * Anna Sofiya (Sophie)  
> 5\. Mandy – Myranda Vladyslava Milkovich  
> 6\. Iggy – alias: Viggo Ivanovich Lukyanov, original name: Igor Yaroslav Milkovich  
> 7\. Jamie – Zinoviy Mystyslav Milkovich  
> 8\. Colin – Kostyantyn Leonid Milkovich  
> 9\. Terry – Petyr Volodymyr Milkovich  
> 10\. Other OCs :  
> * Old Joe i.e. Joseph McDermott (poor guy, he was a necessary collateral damage but he didn’t deserve to die like that)  
> * Svetlana’s dad – Yevgeny Afasonovich Bogdanov  
> * Mimi – alias: Mandy Higgins, original name: Maryam Ismailovna Gasprinskaya  
> * Dyma (Mimi’s husband) – Yildirim Abduramanovich Gasprinsky  
> **additional note: Dyma and Mimi are Crimean Tatars  
> Hoped you enjoyed the ride! -^.^-


End file.
